


in our bedroom after the war

by notwithhaste



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jealousy, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23668909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwithhaste/pseuds/notwithhaste
Summary: "It bothers you because it means I might one day put somebody else before you. And you want me to be happy, but notthatkind of happy."Donna gets a boyfriend. Harvey copes as well as you'd expect.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	in our bedroom after the war

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Donna Gets a Love Interest back when S8 was airing because I needed to fix that before it even aired. Posted to ff net at the time, re-posting my fics here for tidiness and posterity. So if you’ve read it, my apologies, and if you haven’t, I hope you like it. :)

Donna starts dating Thomas on a Friday in January.

He's a CEO of a client company and they meet in a conference room, which is how busy professionals their age meet prospective love interests, she supposes. He's also tall, dark and handsome and he takes her out to see a play then takes her to a nice restaurant, and he makes her laugh and at the end of the night when he walks her to her door, she's had such a good time she invites him inside.

She pours them a drink and they talk easily and when he reaches for her, she goes willingly. It's so easy she briefly wonders if he's a serial killer or porcelain doll enthusiast – it all just seems too good to be true, and with her track record, it usually is.

She's wrong though, surprisingly. Thomas is just a nice guy with a mostly uncomplicated past. He's divorced – ten years ago, no children – and he gets along with his family and he has nothing whatsoever to do with law and he's nothing whatsoever like Harvey Specter. She likes him. She likes him a lot.

So when it's been a few weeks and there's a function thrown by one of their biggest clients and she's expected to be there, she brings Thomas as her date. For once, she doesn't think about how this might affect Harvey; she has a boyfriend and she sees no reason why she wouldn't bring him along.

.

It affects Harvey, of course it does. They have a well-established pattern when it comes to situations like these, and she should know better than to expect any significant change, despite their easy relationship as of late. (When she's being completely honest with herself, on a bottle of wine kind of night, she can admit that things haven't been so much easy as they've been repressed, but what else is new with her and Harvey. She represses that, too.)

She doesn't spot him right away. Thomas has gone to the bathroom and she's just getting a drink when he materializes next to her. "Donna."

She raises her eyebrows in greeting. "Harvey," she smiles, taking a sip. She looks him over once – his favorite tux is impeccable but he's been fidgeting with the bowtie; she resists the urge to fix it - and squints at him, "Who are you avoiding?"

He shoots her a look but quickly relents, "Louis." He shifts on his feet. "He's been making me talk to potential clients since I got here. He acts as if he has any goddamn say in who I choose to represent. I don't know who the hell he thinks he is."

"He's the managing partner," she looks over at him pointedly.

"Yeah, and thanks for that, by the way." The corner of his mouth twitches in distaste.

She rolls her eyes, "Don't be such a crybaby, Harvey. It was the right thing to do and you know it."

He sighs, reluctantly agreeing, and finishes his drink. "Maybe so." He turns to get another, continuing, "But you gotta admit he's been pretty damn obnoxious about it."

"Of course he has! It's Louis," she chuckles, patting his arm. "It's all for the good of the firm. We've made bigger sacrifices in the past."

He raises his eyebrows, "I don't know about that." Turning to her, he clinks their glasses. "Thank god you're here. He won't try and pull that shit with the Louis Whisperer by my side."

She's about to tell him she's here with someone when she feels an arm slipping easily around her waist. "There you are," Thomas smiles at her then turns to Harvey, all ease and friendliness and the two could not be a starker contrast in that moment. "Hi," he extends his arm for a handshake, "I'm Thomas Kessler."

She notices the change in Harvey's expression as soon as Thomas makes an appearance but she has to give it to him, he's quick to recover. He doesn't even shoot her so much as a questioning look as he shakes Thomas' hand. "Good to meet you, Harvey Specter." He smiles, but it's tight and he doesn't mean it. His whole body seems to be in a state of complete tension. She'd laugh if she wasn't so uncomfortable. If she wasn't waiting for the other Harvey shoe to drop. "Donna didn't mention she was seeing someone."

And there it is. Right on cue. She's rolling her eyes, a cool retort on the tip of her tongue, when Thomas offers, "Understandable. We haven't been seeing each other that long." His demeanor is open and his tone earnest and she's kind of impressed that he's not letting himself get sucked into a pissing contest. Point Thomas. She shoots Harvey a look that she knows he can feel burning into his temple. _Play nice._

"How did you two meet?"

"Thomas is a COO of Hunter Entertainment."

Harvey lifts his chin in recognition, "Right. Samantha's client."

Thomas smiles, "Meant to be, I guess."

Harvey's eyebrows do a quick up and down they do when he's irritated but resigned. "Must be." He snaps himself out of it, clearing his throat. "It was nice meeting you," he lies through his teeth. He looks at Donna. "But I have to go and fall in line."

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she watches Harvey disappear into the crowd.

"He seems... nice."

Turning to Thomas, she looks at him skeptically. He shrugs. She appreciates the effort. "He's a good friend. We've been through a lot together."

"I could tell."

She doesn't comment on that. "That was impressive, by the way." Inclining her head, she explains, "People are usually either intimidated by him or competing with him."

He raises an eyebrow, "And by people you mean your boyfriends?"

She smiles. She likes this guy. "Let's just say," she looks over his shoulder, choosing her words, "Our lives are pretty tightly woven together and sometimes that can be confused for something that it's not." She thinks of Mark and Paula. She thinks of herself.

Looking back at Thomas, she finds him considering her. "Is it? Confusion."

"There's nothing going on between me and Harvey."

He nods, "Okay." He touches the ends of her hair, takes her chin, "I'm not intimidated by him, but I also have no intention in competing with him, either." There's nothing confrontational about him, just honesty, and she likes that. He continues, "I really like you, Donna. And I think you like me, too?" She nods. He smiles, "And I think this could go somewhere, but not if there's still some unresolved issues between you and, well, anyone." He cocks his head to the side, "Is there?"

Donna briefly thinks on the other time and the I love you and the kiss in her office. And how all those things led exactly nowhere.

She looks him in the eye and repeats, "There's nothing going on between me and Harvey." Her tone leaves no room for doubt, and for once she actually doesn't.

.

She doesn't speak to Harvey until at least an hour later. Thomas has run into an old buddy from college and she's standing alone having just finished a conversation with a possible donor for her charity, when he approaches her, flute in hand.

She smiles at him as she accepts.

"Having a good time?" he asks into the glass.

"Not bad. You?" She looks at him sideways, "Louis playing well with others?"

"He left, actually."

"Oh?"

"Sheila wasn't feeling well." Donna starts, concerned, but Harvey reassures her, "Just a stomach flu. Baby is fine."

"Oh, thank god," she sighs in relief. "That baby means the world to him. I don't even want to think," she trails off. She doesn't want to finish that thought.

"Yeah," Harvey is looking at her in that significant way he has when he's trying to communicate without communicating, then turns to look at the room. "Well, at least someone seems to have it all. Louis, though. Who would've thought."

She doesn't know how to tackle him like this, here, in a roomful of people, with her date nearby. "Harvey."

"You look beautiful," he says simply, his voice oddly intimate. He's looking straight at her, completely unlike that moment with Jessica years ago, and she's caught up in his undivided attention. Placing his hand on her waist, he leans in and kisses her cheek. Nothing but a slight brush of lips against her skin; she closes her eyes against it.

He pulls back, his fingers lingering on her side, and then he's gone.

Thomas finds her soon after. She can still feel Harvey's fingers just below her ribs.

.

After that night and knowing Harvey as well as she does, she is sort of expecting some vague comment over the next few weeks, one she could take in any number of ways but that would ultimately serve no greater purpose in their grand scheme of things. It's been a week and Harvey's barely spoken to her beyond the work. She knows it's his way of processing and adjusting. She goes against every instinct in her body and tries not to worry about how Harvey is feeling. She's not his keeper. It's a mantra. It's a work in progress.

It's late on a Wednesday and she realizes she left some work at home, so she packs up her stuff and heads for the elevators. She sees the light in his office, sees him bent over some papers on the coffee table, which reminds her. She ignores the elevator doors opening and walks over to his office.

"Alex came to see me this afternoon," she says as she enters. "I think he's struggling on the Bellinger case. I thought maybe you could have a look?"

He looks up at her, his hands clasped between his knees, his tie loose. She has a feeling he wasn't really working at all, but she tries not to worry about that either. "Why would he come to you and not to me?"

Donna props herself up on the edge of his desk, cocks her head, "It's his first big case since getting his name on the wall."

Harvey nods, "Okay. I'll see what I can do." Finishing his drink, he reaches for the scotch in front of him. "Want me to pour you one?" he raises the bottle in his hand in question.

"No," she waves her hand. "I actually need to get going."

"Hot date?" he asks evenly as he puts the lid back on, setting the scotch on the table.

"Not tonight, Thomas is out of town. I left some documents at home and I need to go through them before tomorrow morning."

Taking a sip he goes back to the deposition in front of him, but she knows him too well to mistake it for an end to the conversation, so she waits. His voice is barely audible and he isn't looking at her when he asks, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"About the documents?"

Harvey looks up, unamused.

Her fingers drumming on the underside of his desk, she replies simply, "Like Thomas said, it's fairly new."

"Is that why."

"What do you think is the reason, Harvey?" she sounds tired to her own ears.

He turns his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl inside it. "I think," he raises his eyes to her, "it's for the same reason I didn't want to tell you about Paula."

His gaze is steady on her and she can't believe he brought it up. She sighs, "So it bothers you."

He shrugs in response, downing the scotch in one long gulp.

"I see." Harvey may be a little ahead of schedule with this talk, but he's still disappointingly predictable. "But it doesn't mean anything, right?" He stares at her and she shakes her head, resigned. Turning, she grabs her purse from his desk and pushes herself up to standing. "Goodnight, Harvey."

"You're just gonna leave?"

"Is there a reason for me to stay?"

That's a loaded question and he doesn't say anything, just like she knew he wouldn't. Determined to push down the disappointment that wants to well in her chest, she walks over to the door. She stops in the doorway, her fingers on the cool glass, "I need things to mean something, Harvey. I need this to mean something."

His face is expressionless but she sees his fingers turning white around his glass. She ignores it. Muttering a goodnight, she turns around and walks away from him.

.

There's a knock on her door a couple of hours later and she knows it's him. She's exasperated before she's even opened the door.

He's been drinking, that much is clear.

"What do you want, Harvey?" she leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms.

"I want to come in."

"It's late."

"Yeah, I know. I've been telling time for years." So he's in _that_ sort of mood.

"Can't this wait until morning?"

"No," is his even reply.

She eyes him – he looks dishevelled and well worn - then relents, because apparently she's just as predictable as he is.

He walks past her and into her apartment. He frowns at his surroundings - and she remembers he hasn't been here since the renovation - but he doesn't comment. He cuts to the chase instead.

"The reason I didn't want to tell you about Paula," he takes a breath, steeling himself for the can of worms he's clearly about to open. "She said it was because you were in love with me and I liked it."

Donna blinks at him rapidly; there are so many things she wants to process and address about that sentence. She goes for getting a shot in; she feels like she deserves it. "Wow, dating your therapist must have been so convenient for you."

Harvey ignores the jab. "Was she right?"

Donna sighs. She really doesn't want to be discussing Paula fucking Agard at ten o'clock at night, in her own home. "I don't know, Harvey? Why _did_ you keep it from me?" That's not what he's asking, but it's all she's offering.

"Why did you keep Thomas from me?"

"I didn't _keep_ him from you, Harvey. He's not some dirty secret. It just never came up." She can feel herself getting exasperated now. "It's not like we talk about this stuff."

"Maybe we should," he says, his voice deep and she hates herself for being affected by him.

Her eyebrows draw together. "You're serious."

He spreads his arms then lets them fall, "Why did it bother you?"

She shakes her head, "No." She takes a step forward in her resolve. "You're not asking why it bothered me then. You want to know why it bothers _you now_ , but you have no one else to ask because it's usually me explaining this to you, so here we are!" She rubs her forehead, laughing humorlessly at the absolute absurdity that is their relationship.

"I know why it bothers me, Donna," he replies and he sounds annoyed. He sounds certain.

"And why is that, Harvey?" She waits for him to say something, but he's just standing there with his jaw set and his fists clenching and she realizes with unparalleled clarity, this will always be the furthest they get. She's so sick of the unsaid, she feels like she's choking on it. "I'll tell you why. It bothers you because it means I might one day put somebody else before you. And you want me to be happy, but not _that_ kind of happy," she gesticulates with her hand, squinting at him. "Not the kind of happy that plays on your abandonment issues or whatever the hell it is that makes you unable to stand another man having what you didn't want in the first place."

She can see his fingers twitch, his nostrils flaring and she is expecting him to walk past her and through the door, but instead he squares his shoulders, says, "What _I_ didn't want? You're the one who didn't feel anything, Donna."

It's just a moment – she chalks it up to being surprised by his response – where she takes a breath, hesitates for a beat too long as she looks away and over his shoulder, considering her next words. It's only a moment, but it's enough. She looks back to him, and his head is to the side and his shoulders slump, and he knows.

She closes her eyes against the sight so she misses him walking up to her. They're not touching, but she feels him everywhere. He's close enough she can feel his breath on her face. Her lips. His arms are by his side, yet she feels them all over her skin. It doesn't help any that she knows exactly how good those hands feel on her.

"I didn't know," he says, his voice low and sad and she wonders where this candidness is coming from. Alcohol, probably.

"It wouldn't have mattered if you did." She's sure of that.

"You don't know that."

"Of course I do," she insists.

He shakes his head, but doesn't disagree.

"Harvey." She closes her eyes and sighs, opening them so she can see his face when she asks, "Why are you doing this?"

"You know why," he says, looking at her pointedly like that's enough. It's probably meant to remind her of the time he was standing pretty much where they are now, telling her he loved her, except all it does is serve to remind her of him bailing on her. In her peripheral vision she sees his fingers twitch as they hover around her waist, like it's taking everything in him to keep himself from touching her.

Thomas doesn't keep himself from touching her. He does so freely. He's direct and transparent and he shows her affection and she is so fucking over this Harvey bullshit.

He isn't going to make a move while she's with another man; he isn't going to make a move, period.

She doesn't wait for him to come up with some vague shit he's only going to dismiss the next day. She lays her hands on his chest – and she catches his expression, the panic that's there - and that makes it all the easier to push him away.

"No, Harvey. I don't know why," she says, standing up straighter now that he's an arm length away.

"You should," is all he says, and it makes her blood boil.

"I'm not a mind reader which is exactly what I'd need to be to figure this out and, quite frankly Harvey, I'm sick of trying."

"Is that why you started dating Thomas?"

"Is that why you're here?"

"Donna."

"Don't Donna me, Harvey," she's so fed up of their stops and starts. "Where was all this over the past few months? Where was it after you left your girlfriend for me? I don't remember you being this keen to come in then." He looks taken aback, that she'd put it so bluntly. She suddenly feels tired. Her tone more measured, she squares against him, "Face it, Harvey. You're here tonight because it's safe. Because I'm with Thomas and you could never be that guy."

His jaw is tense, his lips pursing as he gives a curt nod. "You're full of shit, you know that." Donna doesn't recover quick enough, and he uses her surprise to barrage on. " _You_ kissed _me_ while I was with Paula." He's pointing and his voice is threatening and that's good, too. Maybe she'll finally hear what Harvey has to say. "For years, you've been pushing me into these relationships that you were way more invested in than I was. And then I start getting serious with someone, and _that's_ when you decide to see how you feel about me? Are you fucking kidding me?"

She doesn't feel like addressing that so she does what Harvey always does and goes on the offensive. "So this is, what? Payback?"

He looks as angry as she feels, but he doesn't bite, "Don't be stupid, Donna. That's not you."

"Don't be emotionally available, Harvey. That's not _you_."

His head draws back, his face stunned and she regrets the words immediately, but she doesn't take them back. She feels like, for the first time in a long time, she's the one with the emotional upper hand. She managed to surprise him, to avoid giving in to all her usual Harvey impulses, and that's another straw she'll gladly grasp at.

He doesn't stay speechless for long. "You're right," he buttons up his suit jacket. "This isn't going anywhere. I should go."

Donna nods and that's all the answer she's giving him. She doesn't turn to watch him go. She might do something embarrassing, like ask him to stay.

.

It's the same as it ever was.

Harvey and her are who they've always been and he didn't kiss her that night or give her a reason to think this time will be any different to any of their previous and similar encounters, so it only stands to reason he be ever present in her relationship.

Thomas takes her out for lunch, and she tells him to meet her there instead of picking her up in the lobby. He suggests baseball game on a Saturday, she turns it into an outing to a gallery. He talks about the future in the suburbs, she thinks about Harvey without her. He wraps his arm around her while she sleeps, she dreams about Harvey behind her.

It's when she has to bite down on her lip to stop herself from screaming out Harvey's name while Thomas fucks her in the shower, that she knows he's done it again.

She breaks up with Thomas the same night. It's not the worst breakup, but she feels sad for him because he really is a good guy. She feels sad for her because he could have been _the_ guy. She sees no point in dragging out the inevitable, though.

Thomas leaves and she's left in her empty apartment, loving a man who's always going to be too scared to lose her and too hesitant to touch her, and for the first time in her life she wonders if she'd have been better off never meeting Harvey Specter at all.

The fact the thought even enters her mind is the worst heartbreak she's ever felt.

.

She goes to work early and finishes late and avoids her apartment like the plague. She misses Thomas but she doesn't; she misses someone to laugh with, someone to reach for in the night. It's a little frightening how fast she got used to both.

Harvey is Harvey, of course. He pretends like that night in her apartment never happened. He comes to her for professional advice then does something stupid anyway. He avoids her for days then orchestrates them working together on a case. He watches her when he thinks she's not looking then averts his eyes when she does.

She can't think of a more accurate metaphor for their entire relationship.

.

They haven't had a drink together in weeks. Before she started dating Thomas, come to think of it. It's like they've both been purposefully avoiding it. So she's surprised when he comes knocking on her open door one night, with an unopened bottle and two shot glasses, and walks himself in.

She frowns up at him, circling her finger at his props. "I have all those things."

"I didn't want to leave anything to chance."

"What's the occasion?"

"We just signed Warren Goods and Alex won in court today," he walks over to her desk, points at her mini bar in question.

She nods her approval. "That's a good day at the office."

He doesn't look at her as he pours, "I thought we could celebrate."

Standing up, she accepts the drink and walks over to the couch. He follows her.

"So," he says idly, sitting down.

"So," she repeats, taking a sip of her scotch.

"Working late."

"There's a few loose ends I don't feel comfortable leaving for tomorrow."

He looks down, swirling his glass. "You really are a great COO, Donna." He looks over as he says her name and she can see what he's actually saying is sorry. She smiles and nods her forgiveness. Adds, "I know" because most days now she does.

"So," he starts again, looking somewhere over her shoulder, "Thomas working tonight?"

She wants to laugh at how obvious he's being, except it's more sad than funny. "I wouldn't know," is all she offers. He's a smart guy. He can figure it out.

"Everything okay?"

She sighs, "Everything is fine, Harvey."

"Look," he starts. "Work isn't the only reason I'm here." No shit, Sherlock, she wants to say but refrains. She didn't need to be Donna to figure that one out. "I wanted to apologize. For the other night, I didn't mean to –"

"Please, don't," she interrupts quietly.

"Donna," he trails off, his voice too intimate for her mood.

"Harvey," she exhales.

"I hate that it bothers me, Donna. And if he makes you happy, then -"

"We broke up," she interrupts. She might as well tell him; it's not like he won't find out sooner or later.

Harvey's eyes are searching her face for tells. It makes her feel like she's on the stand. "When?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

"Why haven't you told me?"

"Because, Harvey," she sighs, looking away.

"Because what?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "Because. This is all too familiar for me." His face knits in confusion and she rolls her eyes. He's not that obtuse and she fucking knows it. "Here I am, single and at your disposal, with nothing to show for it."

"Donna," he starts, but she waves him off.

"And you don't have to worry about doing anything drastic like actually having an honest fucking conversation for a change. God forbid we should upset the status quo." Finishing her drink and setting the glass a little too forcefully on the coffee table in front of her, she gets up and walks over to her desk. She turns off the laptop, gathering her things.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him stand up slowly, setting his tumbler next to hers, shoving his hands in his pockets. She realizes she's holding her breath, expecting him to cross the distance and stop her. Walking over to the door, she listens for him call her name in order to stall her exit. She doesn't slow down for it, but she thinks he might follow her down the corridor and to the elevators.

He doesn't. He lets her go, like he's been letting her go for years, but she can get over that. It's the fact that she hopes, over and over and over again, that has her quickly wiping her eyes as the elevator doors close in front of her.

.

She goes home. In the cab, she briefly considers calling Thomas, but decides against it. If that almost-disaster with Mark has taught her anything, it's not to make decisions regarding her romantic life when she's coming down from all the Harvey.

Toeing off her shoes, she skips the dinner and goes straight for the wine. She downs the first glass as she takes off her coat, pours the second one straight away. She thinks about taking a bath, but she feels too restless to be lying down. Maybe she'll fire up the laptop and take her work to bed with her. Ordinarily, that thought wouldn't bother her, but tonight it makes her sad.

She's just about to pour herself a third glass when she hears the knocking and _you have got to be shitting me._

Setting the glass down, she walks over to the door, but doesn't open. "Go home, Harvey." He doesn't listen, why should he. "What do you want?"

"Will you open the goddamn door?"

It's out of the concern for the neighbors and not because of his petulance that she lets him come in. "What is it now, Harvey?"

"I want to finish our conversation."

"I thought we did."

"You did. I didn't." He takes a step closer, then another, and she suddenly feels like she's being cross-examined. "Why did you break up with him?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Donna."

She sighs. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," he says simply.

"Oh, you know, the usual," she runs her hand through her hair. "He was really sweet and hot and into me, and his only fault was that he wasn't –" she stops herself in time, regretting drinking half a bottle of wine in fifteen minutes.

Harvey takes another step, his pupils huge, his voice hoarse, "He wasn't what?"

She doesn't avert her eyes, stands her ground as she shakes her head.

He's so close now she can smell him, the scotch and the cologne and she wishes he didn't affect her, but he does. She doesn't look away, though, won't give him that.

Cocking his head, he repeats, "He wasn't what, Donna?"

His eyes are unblinking, focused; he wants to hear her say it. She squares her jaw and says nothing. It's not much, but she'd like to hold on to this last shred of dignity, as manufactured as it may be. She's been leaving boyfriends and passing up on a personal life for him for forever. This she's fucking keeping to herself and Harvey can shove it.

It's symbolic at best, because they both know that sentence ends with him. A movement catches her eye and she looks down at his hand hovering around her hip, his fingers twitching at her side, exactly like the other night. She feels his breath on her cheek and she closes her eyes. She's not sure if it's in anticipation of his touch or resignation to the fact he's never going to go through with it.

Except next thing she knows, his hand is firm on her hip and he's walking her back into the wall and when she raises her head sharply to look at him, his face is pure desire. She's pinned between him and the wall, and she thinks she can feel his semi on her lower belly.

Still, she doesn't trust this. "You need to stop starting things you have no intention of seeing through."

"Maybe if you stopped interrupting me all the goddamn time, I'd finish a fucking thought." Harvey's jaw twitches in time with his thumb pressing into her side. "I think you underestimate just how much I want you." Her eyes go wide at his admission and he picks up on it immediately. Cocking his head to the side, his lips are a thin line, his eyes softer as he silently wonders how she could have missed it.

Her voice is quiet when she says, "I think you overestimate just how much you let on."

His body flush with hers, he brings his left hand up to her waist, both thumbs now brushing up and over her ribs. "I think I'm making myself pretty clear right now." She can definitely feel his hardon against her.

Biting her lip, she's about to ask what the hell they're doing, but she never gets to do that because she's interrupted by his groan and then his mouth is on hers, her bottom lip trapped between his, and she supposes that answers her question.

He still kisses just as she remembers.

Her hands grasp his forearms as he deepens the kiss, trailing up over his biceps and into the hair at the nape of his neck. Her touch seems to spur him on, his tongue sliding against hers and she can't help the moan, not when her arms and her lips and her heart are full of him.

He steps back abruptly but takes her with him, his hands strong on her ribs as he pulls her flush against him, walks her backwards blindly until her ass hits the dining room table. She feels behind with her hand for some leverage then he's hoisting her up and stepping between her legs, his palms flat on the top of her thighs.

Her fingers trailing down his throat, she breaks the kiss, his nose brushing against her forehead as she rests there, looking down. "Harvey," she pulls away to look at him; his face is intense, his eyes dark and his focus singular. She remembers that look. They've been here before. "And then what?"

His eyes dance across her face, intense and searching, and she wonders what he's looking for. Wishes he'd just ask. "I don't know, Donna," he breathes, fingers of his right hand coming up to smooth her hair. He cups her face with surprising gentleness, "I do know I'm sick of the status quo."

She scans his face. The way he looks at her, like she has him and he doesn't really know what to do with that, still. Yet. And, jesus, can she relate. She likes to think she has them figured out, in the abstract. Where Harvey's evasive and nothing ever happens. But sitting on top of her dining room table, with Harvey a very real presence pressing hard against her, she reluctantly admits to herself she wouldn't even know where to start. Not on her own. She hates the unpredictable and she hates messy, but maybe messy is just what they need. Playing it safe hasn't gotten them very far, after all.

She gives a small nod, nothing but an almost imperceptible movement of her chin, but it's Harvey and that's plenty. Tugging at his tie, she undoes it slowly, deliberately. She feels him suck in a breath as she unbuttons his collar, working her way down his shirt. His palms move up and down her legs, her loose skirt bunching up with the movement. She has two buttons left when he interrupts her with an impatient groan, his hands on the small of her back as he pushes forward, thrusting against her.

Donna moans against his lips when he kisses her hungrily, his hands now everywhere, unzipping her dress, inching the straps over her shoulders and down her arms, pads of his fingers caressing her skin as he goes. Her bra is white lace and she's briefly pleased with her choice of underwear, but Harvey doesn't seem to be as appreciative, unhooking it at the back and thumbing it off until her breasts feel heavy and exposed. She's too turned on to feel self-conscious – it's not her style, anyway, but then this is Harvey and this is different – but even if she somehow did, his reaction proves to be pretty standard and reassuring.

"Fuck," he exhales and she can't help a chuckle at his helpless expression.

"Just as you remember them?" she teases.

He shakes his head, still staring, "Better."

She's about to roll her eyes – he may be different, but he's just like every other guy when it comes right down to it – only she forgets how to when he cups both her breasts with a kind of reverence, trapping her nipples between his thumb and his index. Bending down, he plants an open-mouthed kiss over her right nipple, his tongue darting out to lick around it and her hand grabs the back of his neck as she pulls his head closer, closer, until he's sucking in earnest and she thinks she's going to lose her goddamn mind. Thrusting forward, she rubs against his cock, feels him grunt around her sensitive flesh.

"Harvey," she urges throatily, her hands flying to his belt, undoing it in one quick motion.

His zip is next and then she's pushing his pants down, but gives up once they're around his thighs, just low enough for her to gain easy access to his dick. She cups him through his underwear, runs her hand along the length of it, twisting at the tip, making him twitch. She smiles a small smile into his hair.

"I see you remember that," he groans, straightening up to look at her.

"I do," she's still smiling. He mirrors her, his own smile soft at the memory.

Pushing her hair out of the way, he kisses up the side of her neck, running his tongue under her earlobe then catching it between his teeth, his breath hot in her ear. She can barely recognize the sound that she makes. She can feel his grin against her jaw. "I remember a thing or two myself."

"I can see that," she dips into his underwear, takes his cock out through the slit at the front. She brings his tip against her, rubs it slowly down the middle of her panties.

"Are you turning this into a competition?"

She raises an eyebrow, "And what if I was?"

He draws back, all smugness she'd expect from him. "I'd say you'd lose."

"I am meticulous and organized with extraordinary attention to detail."

"And I've been thinking about this for years." There's still a small smile playing on his lips, but his eyes are solemn and honest and she feels like she should pay him in kind.

Her voice is quiet when she admits, "So have I."

They stare at each other for a long moment, letting that sink in. Biting her lip, she lifts off the table and takes off her panties, sitting back down on the very edge with his cock hard at her opening. She smears his precome with her thumb and it makes his eyes go dark with want.

"I don't have any condoms," he mutters, maintaining eye contact.

"I'm okay."

He nods his me too and she guides him inside, wrapping her legs around his waist as he sinks deeper.

"Fuck," he grunts out, his eyes closing as he fills her completely.

Her hands are on the table for support and he leans forward as he begins to move, his forehead against hers, his mouth open and wet as he kisses her in time with his thrusts. It's not long and he's picking up pace, his left hand on her back to steady her and his right weaving through the hair at the back of her head, and both feel grounding.

"Fuck, you feel." He doesn't finish the thought and he doesn't need to.

She hums her agreement against his lips. She feels all those things, too.

Pulling away, he stands straighter, changing the angle, and splays his hands over her pussy, his thumbs on her clit. Her head falls back, her eyes screwing shut as he works her clit, circular motions, one thumb then the other and fuck _fuck_ he _does_ remember. But when she looks at him, she doesn't see the smug satisfaction she thought she'd find. He's looking down at what he's doing to her with a reverence and a care she's never seen on him before. And he's skilled – jesus christ, he's skilled – his dick and his hands; but it's this that proves to be her undoing. She never closes her eyes, never takes her eyes off him as she comes under his fingers and around his cock.

Sitting up, she grabs the back of his head and kisses him, her mouth open and greedy, as if she's been in love with him for thirteen years, because she has. His arms are strong around her, his movements shallower and more rapid now and she feels him tense and then he's coming inside her as they cling to each other, his head falling on her shoulder, his moans muffled against her skin.

They stay like that for awhile. She has no idea what to say so she doesn't say anything, just cradles his head in the crook of her neck, her eyes closed as she feels him going soft inside her.

In the end, she needs to point out the obvious. "We need to clean up."

He mhmmms into her skin and then proceeds to not move a muscle.

Poking his side, she pulls her head back as much as possible with Harvey wrapped around her. "This table is starting to bruise and I need a shower." When his only response is to move his hand lower and attempt to cup her behind, she decides to sweeten the deal. "You know, you could always join me."

She feels him turns his head, his lips moving against her neck, "It's flattering that you'd think I can go again so soon."

She slaps his arm and pushes him off. "Come on," she says, hopping off the table and heading down the hallway and to the bathroom. When he doesn't follow, she turns around and finds him standing there, looking at her, his fingers rubbing his thumb in a gesture she knows well. She walks back a few steps, schooling her features. "Or you can go if you want to, Harvey."

He shakes his head slowly from one side to the other. "I don't want to go."

Tipping her head to her left, she asks, "Do you want to stay?" Because she knows the former doesn't necessarily mean the latter.

He blinks and it looks deliberate. It looks like an epiphany. "Yes."

She offers her hand and he walks over and takes it, pulls her in for a kiss. It's soft, with his hand smoothing down her hair, and she smiles into it.

"So. Dining room table. Inspired."

He smirks, "I was."

She looks down on his thumb brushing the back of her hand. "We're going to have to figure this out at some point."

"Oh, I've had you figured out for years." He leans in to whisper in her ear, "You're into me."

She rolls her eyes and slaps his chest. "Stop it."

He bites down on his lip, smiling. "It's okay. I'm into you, too."

Turning around, she starts to walk away, but he tugs her back by the wrist. "We'll make it work," he says, serious, and she hears what he isn't saying. They have to make this work.

She reaches up to cup his jaw, running her fingers along the beginnings of a stubble there, pushes up on her toes to brush her lips gently against his. "We'll make it work."

Harvey looks at her for a moment and then he's kissing her and walking her back towards the bedroom, and he may not be able to go again so soon but she certainly can. Twice.

Harvey stays over, his chest to her back and his fingers loose around hers, and Donna dreams and it's familiar.

It's all Harvey.


End file.
